Judd Apatow doesn’t mince words. He has a ready response for those trying to figure out his latest career move: “Because I wanted to lower my salary and my self-esteem at the same time.”

Mission likely accomplished.

Apatow — director, writer and producer of some of the most successful Hollywood comedies of this millennium — decided this year he wanted to do something he had dreamed of since he was 10: standup comedy.

He had dabbled a little on the scene over the years, but he put it all on the line when he returned to the Just for Laughs festival in July to shoot his first solo special, at Place des Arts’ Cinquième Salle. Apatow did five shows at the venue, from which the Netflix special Judd Apatow: The Return was culled. It is now available for streaming, and, if nothing else, viewers will have to give Apatow credit for taking the sort of risk few in his position would ever contemplate.

No question that his salary will take a dive if he sticks to this métier. The man has made countless millions on the other side of the camera. Among the three dozen or so films Apatow has directed, written and/or produced are The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up, Trainwreck, Superbad, Bridesmaids, The Cable Guy, Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and Funny People.

And no question that his self-esteem will also take a big hit. That is inevitable when an aspiring standup hits the stage and shares the most intimate and neurotic details of his life with a bunch of strangers in the live audience, and with a bunch of comics and critics set to judge him when the special starts streaming.

The man has chutzpah. The man is also pretty funny. The humour is largely of the self-deprecating variety, because who better to skewer than himself?

Apatow has no illusions about his place on the home front. “I live with three beautiful women: my wife (actress Leslie Mann) and our two daughters. … They have so much in common and I’m the ugly troll in the corner.”

He tries to bond with his kids by watching TV with them, but that doesn’t work: they’re big fans of the Kardashians and he’d likely rather undergo gum surgery than catch their shows.

“Well, the Kardashians have more money than you,” one of his daughters gleefully informs him. “I looked it up on celebritynetworth.com.”

Ouch.

In my interview with Apatow in July, he mentioned that he gets little appreciation for his comedy from his daughters. “One of my daughters doesn’t like my comedy at all, and she says, like a true teenager: ‘Dad, I hate your comedy so much that sometimes my friends make jokes that are funny and I can’t laugh because you make jokes.’ ”

Back to the special: It doesn’t soothe Apatow’s fragile ego when his daughter tells him about an acquaintance who complains that his movies are too long. And his explanation about their length being related to character development falls on deaf ears.

Apatow doesn’t comprehend the concept of posting selfies on Instagram. “In the ’70s, if I ever took pictures of myself and mailed them to somebody, they’d think I was a lunatic. … Every photo of me looks like those the cops show witnesses: ‘Is that the murderer?’ ”

Apatow tries to impart to the Place des Arts patrons what initially drew him into comedy. He was 10 and miserable, because his parents were about to divorce.

The crowd lets out an audible sympathy sigh. Apatow appears taken aback: “Don’t be sad. … I’m rich.” (Albeit not as rich as the Kardashians.)

He goes on to say that he did some standup in his late teens and early 20s, but gave it up when he started hanging out with a couple of unknown comics who would go on to become superstars: Adam Sandler and Jim Carrey.

But what really sealed his initial retirement from standup was being rebuffed by Jim Henson for Sesame Street. Actually, they wanted Apatow’s material — just not him. As he puts it, being rejected by Kermit the Frog really bites.

Humiliation was to be a constant in Apatow’s life. Like the time he was asked to throw the first pitch at a New York Mets game, and a crowd of 50,000 went hysterical when his toss proved to be pathetic. “But I realized that humiliation would fuel my comedy for the next 25 years.”

Much more humiliation was to come.

Like the time he asked Paul McCartney for his co-ordinates in order to do lunch, and the Beatle put his hands in the air, seemingly to indicate he really wasn’t interested in getting together. (Apatow even produces a photo of this embarrassing moment.)

Or the time Apatow and his wife lined up to have their photo taken with then-president Obama. Apatow was hoping POTUS would commend him on his humour. Not exactly. Obama’s comment: “You know, me and Michelle just watched Funny People the other day. We loved it. We love depressing movies.”

Yeah, thanks all the same.

Apatow does divert attention from himself to take on President Trump and veep Mike Pence. Alas, the material is not only dated — just five months later — given the proliferation of Trump fodder, but on the pedestrian side when compared to the material of talk-show hosts Stephen Colbert, Bill Maher and John Oliver, for whom Trump-dumping has become a blood sport.

But there’s no need for Apatow to wander into volatile political waters when he can stay on dry land to hilariously mine his failings in the boudoir.

All in all, a noble debut for a long-striving funnyman who hopes to prove that his professional life can get a restart at 50.

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